


On the back of a motor bike, trying to take flight

by Arctic_Cyclist



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics), robin: year one
Genre: Age Reversal, Bechdel Test Pass, Day 3, DickDamiWeek, Gen, big bro Damian, dickdamiweek2016, fluffy ball of fluff, late posting again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 19:48:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7983958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arctic_Cyclist/pseuds/Arctic_Cyclist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick stares at the bubbling liquid that they tossed the desiccated corpse into with a plop and wonders if anyone would be offended if he asks to bring his parents back. Not that he really wants to go back to his old life, he loves being Robin and saving people. </p><p>Day three prompt: Age reversal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the back of a motor bike, trying to take flight

**Author's Note:**

> So, as a cyclist, I get to meet a lot of people including adults who've been removed from abusive homes and former child soldiers who've done horrific things. I tend to model my adult Damian Wayne after the ones who ended up in safe and stable homes. 
> 
> I've also noted that once he left his mother, Damian started displaying a massive case of big brother instinct in most of the comics he's appeared in, even the awful Battle for the Cowl. So I ran with him being a completely different person because he wasn't competing for Bruce and Alfred's love and attention and Bruce being a younger, more trusting self. Which would change the rest of the family dramatically.
> 
> Ages are what they were/would have been if Tim hadn't stopped aging at seventeen.
> 
> Dick 10, turns 11 during the story  
> Jason is 17 going on 18, same as Cassandra  
> Tim 20-21  
> Stephanie is 19-20  
> Damian, Nell and Colin are 27-28  
> Suren, Maya and Chris are 29-30

Jason glances in at the sleeping boy and closes the door with a soft click. Alfred’s glare and tail twitch conveyed that he was an expert at soothing heartbroken children, so the teenager’s presence wasn’t needed. Move along, human. Or be reminded that Big D’s pets are much like their master: sweet, loving, amiable, and patient to a certain point and then they will not hesitate to rip you to shreds and pour lemon juice and salt in the wounds.

He’d never been scared of cows until the time that Batcow unleashed her hooves of justice and vengeance on an invading Thangarian army. After that, he understood why Aquaman was adamant that cows are terrifying, and kill more land dwellers each year than all of the water dwellers combined. She was a regular on the watch tower roster. No one ever explained how, or how she got up there.

He suspects only Damian knows. 

“Someday,” he mutters to Tim, who pushes up off the wall he was leaning on, “we should figure out why everyone loves Damian’s room. It’s not like it is child friendly, or even overly welcoming.”

A lie. Damian’s room may not be done in bright colors or the pastels normally associated with childhood, but it was warm in a way the rest of the manor wasn’t. Rich earth and jewel tones, mostly reds, and wood dominated his room. It always smells of spices, citrus, sage, sandalwood, and evergreens. Jason still regularly steps in to breathe the ambiance of the room and draw strength when he doubts himself as Robin, as a person. He knows the others do too. Bruce can be found after a hard night in the armchair by the fire that the room’s owner has never been seen in but every guest has nestled in to watch him work, paint, or play. 

Even little Barbara Gordon has found her way to the chair, slipping past security at a gala and her uncle's, soon to be adoptive father, eyes to start a fire in the grate, climb in the wardrobe, and then settle in the wingback with the collection of Chinese folktales that Damian was translating and illustrating. Alfred was purring above her, Kibeth, the hound of uncertain history Damian brought home a year after Titus passed, snoring at her feet.

The room is the first area anyone looks when a young visitor to the manor is misplaced. The wardrobe is the first spot checked. Everyone under the age of thirty is certain that the apple wood wardrobe is the former gateway to Narnia. It just makes sense that Damian would have it.

Tim winces as they stroll down the hall and stars to the study. The old spinal damage from Obeah man still twinges even as he has regained full motion, more when under stress like now with a new stray in the house, the oldest one off gods know where, and Bruce getting serious with Jezebel Jet.

“My training, young Padawan Robin, has been a complete failure if you still haven’t figured out why Damian’s room is the most popular room in the house. The answer is clear: the animals sleep there.”

Tim doesn’t, won’t judge anyone who goes to Damian’s room for safety and comfort. Back before Jason and Cass joined the clan, in what is referred to as “A Bad Time Had By All”, when he’d woken up from a family vacation orphaned and crippled, with a dead girlfriend, and a missing big brother who may or may not have sold himself to his grandfather to try and fix everything, he’d spent hours in front of the hearth. Before he decided to become Oracle, he read every book Damian owned, and attempted to learn the violin.

It didn’t bring Damian home, or Stephanie back, or his parents. But it gave him something.

Despite his efforts as Oracle, he still doesn’t know what Damian did in exchange for Stephanie. Or what he was going to do for Tim that caused Talia to betray her father and resurrect the girl and train her herself. Only Maya, Goliath, Suren and the al Ghuls know and none of them speak about it.

Thank god for a street rat with the audacity to steal the tires off the Batmobile on the anniversary of Batman’s birth. The third, sort of fourth Robin brought a new dynamic to the house. That and the dog.

Jason sighs and says, “It’s because no one has nightmares in his room.”

“Course not. Damian once beat the snot out of a god of nightmares.”

“Did he really?”

“Well, I don’t know if the entity really was a god of nightmares, but Damian smashed his teeth on principle. Just like the god of puberty. Anyway, D’s going to be pissed about your test scores.”

Jason shakes his head, and Tim gives him a sideways grin.

“I’m seventeen, he should be proud that I’m just taking the L-SAT or M-CAT. Besides, I still got into the schools I wanted, even if I wasn’t the top two percentile. How do you think he’ll respond to Dick?”

“Same way he did us. A paternity test and lecturing Bruce on birth control, followed by assessments, and then creating training and studying regimes. He’ll be more upset about Jet and the rumors of Black Glove than Bruce acquiring another orphan. Given who handed the kid over, Big D will probably start measuring him for a cape.”

Neither young man notes the silent shadow escorted by a twinning cat following them, and listening to the conversation as they enter the study and shut the door. It watches, and waits as their voices disappear, opens the door and frowns at the lack of occupants before following its guide back to bed.

-

Detective Little has the most beautiful skin Dick has ever seen; it’s a smooth silky burnt umber that makes him think of river banks and warm days in the sun. Her hair is a smooth mass of tight braids intricately woven over her head and tipped with beads made from semiprecious stones. Her partner has hair the color of over steeped tea and cement eyes. A part of him thinks he should be worried that his case is in the hands of a pair of women, one of whom is the youngest detective in Gotham PD history, but these two exude an air of take no crap confidence.

Little and Burnside were the first plainclothes on the scene, arriving just after the ambulances and uniforms, just before CPS sent in a tall redhead with an easy carriage. Pop Haley was a bit dismayed by how quickly the women and man separated the crying child from him and handed him off to Bruce Wayne and his two adopted sons. Dick wasn’t. All he’d said was some guy name Zucco had been messing with the ropes and another person in a bronze and brown body suit with a lot of knives and an owl face had been watching him and they slapped an endangered witness label on him. Not what he had expected given the gossip about Gotham.

Little hands him a cup of watery and scalding cocoa from a vending machine as Burnside asks him if he remembers any other details.

“How about a smell, Dick. Do you remember any chemical smells that didn’t belong, or if the man messing with the rig was wearing any scents? Body odor, soap, perfumes or cologne?”

“No,” he says, and scowls at the table, kicks at its leg. Tears are stinging his eyes. “Nothing else.”

The two women look over his head and hold a fast, silent conversation before Burnside leaves the room and Little settles in front of him with her summer skin and smile.

“It's okay, you've already given us a lot of useful information. You’ve really helped us out.” She offers the sulking boy and then asks, “How do you like Wayne Manor? It’s big isn’t it? First time you’ve had your own room?”

“It’s fine. Yeah, and yeah, except for I keep sleeping in the room that belongs to Mr. Wayne’s actual son. The cat and dog sleep there.”

“Gotten lost yet?”

“Yeah. I was following Kibeth and then she left me.” He gives a watery smile. “Luckily the cat found me before I got hungry.”

“Ah. Kibeth. Of course. She loves her walks, but she’s called the Disreputable Dog for a reason.” Detective Little looks at his wide eyes and grins. It’s infectious. “She’s named after a character in the Abhorsen Chronicles. If it’s not in the library, either Tim or Jason have the omnibus.”

“Giving book recommendations, Nell?” comes a cheerful voice from the door, where tall, freckled Colin Wilkes is watching. He dangles his keys at Dick, an explanation for his presence. “That might be a little scary for Dick to read. Zombies and all.”

"I like zombies.” Dick replies as he collects his stuff and walks out, flanked by the two adults. Getting into the car he asks, “Are you both friends of the Great and Terrible Damian Wayne?”

“Yep.” Colin chirps and puts the key in the ignition and then waits until Dick huffs and buckles his seat belt. They pull out in traffic and Dick is glad Colin insisted. He grabs the door grip and holds on as Gotham whips past them at high speed and questionable traffic choices.

“So,” he squeaks as they narrowly make the green arrow and the pressure presses him against the door, “when do I get to meet him?”

“Oh, sooner or later.” Colin doesn’t look away from the road, and Dick is grateful, but he does look askance at the boy and Dick realizes that the man knows about his sneaking out and into Gotham. “Sooner, rather than later I think. Tell me about Jet.”

“I don’t like her.”

“Hmmm. Neither do I. How do the animals respond to her?”

“Kibeth won’t let me be in the same room at her, growls constantly. Alfred hisses and runs.”

Colin nods as if he expected that, and Dick adds, “I think Bruce is serious about her. I may need a new place.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Too much is going on that’s over his head. Nell says the case has stalled, and she looks harried even though crime is down and Gotham’s Prince is madly in love. Colin has moved him and the animals in with a single mother and her daughter, a pretty girl with narly scars who’s Tim’s age. She’s in and out, and Dick thinks she might be a drug lord. Crystal and Stephanie both make good waffles, though, so that’s a plus. Friday night game night is a drag, he’s tired of losing at Scrabble.

He hasn’t told anyone that he knows Bruce is Batman, because he thinks the man might quit and marry Jezebel. It doesn’t seem to matter that his parents’ killer is still free and he has begun taking things into his own hands.

Damian is still out of the picture, but Zucco isn’t. Dick has been following him, sometimes with the dog, mostly alone.

Right now, flying through the air with his shoulder burning from the bullet, he thinks that may have been a mistake. He hits the cold water, gasps, and knows it was a mistake. It doesn’t matter how he kicks, the current has him and the surface is refusing to come closer.

An iridescent arm of smoke and flame grabs him and he latches on to break into the air, and then he’s flying again. Like he did with his parents, and hasn’t in these long weeks. Faster and higher than his parents, he realizes. Not dead though. If he was dead he wouldn’t be trying to hack up a lung.

“Breathe, Grayson, breathe.”

The voice is deep and calm, similar to Batman but with less gravel, more wild animal and dancing in the dew. It’s the night, but not a city night. He takes in the giant shadow, the flickering feathers and bird silhouette on its chest, only edged with reflected light. It speaks again. “Easy, boy. Today is not your day to die.”

“Funny. I always thought you’d be more yellow, and taller.” The head tilts at him and he explains, “Since you’re Big Bird.”

“Sesame Street is a bit rougher than you expected?”

“If this is Sesame Street, than I want my PBS dollars back. That show should be way more hardcore.”

A flash of teeth and there is a pinch and his shoulder is going numb. It must be shock, Dick thinks, that’s why he didn’t notice the demon creature applying a field dressing to his shoulder. The man stands and steps over to the edge of the roof and looks down at the flashing lights. The dulcet tones of Burnside’s screaming, “Stop. Police. Drop your weapons. Anthony Zucco you are under arrest for extortion, the murders of John and Mary Grayson, and…”

Flamebird lifts him, swings down next to the cops. She looks at Dick before continuing, “the attempted murder of Richard Grayson.”

Zucco stares at the looming figure next to the boy and puts his hands on his head. As they cuff and Mirandize him, Dick looks up at the hero. “Am I in trouble? For running off?” Then he stares at the red sky and thinks of his foster father. “Is Bruce in trouble?”

“You? No. Running off may have been one of the best things you could do tonight. Bruce? Yes. There are devils afoot.”

Flamebird looks up at Detective Nell, who has come to collect Dick. “Good thing Demons are hunting tonight as well, isn’t it?” she says.

“Yes.” Echo the shadows as the creature disappears.

Dick shivers and looks up at the red and green tearing the heavens apart and thinks that maybe the sun won’t be rising today.

-

“Pants, Grayson. If you want to fight crime, you must wear pants.”

“Fine. But I want a hood.”

Damian reaches a hand and pulls him up from where the boy is gasping. He was in shape, and a decent fighter when faced with Tim or the new Red Robin, Jason. But Damian and Cassandra are inhuman in the way they move. He flinches and frowns when Damian ties a blindfold over his eyes.

“When you can defend yourself against eight fighters of various skills blindfolded, and incapacitate them, then you may have a hood. Otherwise it’s a liability. Besides, if I can’t have a cape-“

"No capes!" choruses the others, all still traumatized by Damian's tendency to shove them under one, or bring home stray children and animals in one.

“-You have to wear pants. Now. Defend yourself. Jason, sic him.”

-

“Stuff like this, Big D, is why they wouldn’t let us have his corpse.” Stephanie Brown, Red Hood, former Batgirl, former Robin, former Spoiler, and on again off again girlfriend of Oracle chirps. Perched next to her, far from the marble bathtub that is starting to bubble and swirl with noxious fumes after Chris Kent, Superboy, hit it with his laser eyes, Dick eats the waffles she packed. Waffles are for celebrations, she said, or when shit hits the fan. “B said that he never wanted to be brought back by your grandfather’s pits.”

“Good thing we’re not using my Grandfather’s pits then.” 

It’s true. They’re using what Red Robin and Oracle have referred to as the Prohibition style of Lazarus Pit. Jason asked if they were going to make gin and moonshine afterwards, which resulted in a baffled Suren saying, yes, they could, but why would they want to make moonshine? The weather was fine and the moon would be up soon anyway. There was a lively discussion on Prohibition and booze, mostly facilitated by Steph and Maya. Technically, Stephanie was too young to drink by a few months in the U.S., but as she says, old enough to come back from the dead and become a crime lord, old enough to drink. 

“If it was Father, I’d respect his wishes. But Jason swears that the painting of Mordecai Wayne is Father, and there are enough shenanigans in my family history with time travel that I believe him. Besides, it smells like a vat grown clone.” He glances up at Tim’s friend, hovering by Supergirl and the other Superboy. “You agree?”

Konner Kent nods and Steph sighs. “You two would be the experts on those. Still. I’d never wish the Pits on anyone, even a clone. Right, Spooky?”

The current Batgirl leans into her predecessor and grunts, “Yes. The Pits suck. Even the one’s made with your Tetya Nyssa’s special blend. They burn.”

“And whisper.”

“And you see your dead friends in them, even if they aren’t dead anymore.”

“I said I was sorry for not calling.”

“Still mad.”

“That’s because Ra’s doesn’t maintain his pits correctly, nor his daughters. I assure you, this one is better. Besides, both of you had gone to a nice section of death. Coming back from that never is good.” Suren explains. “Not like Damian or me.” At the sudden silence, both men looked up from their tinkering. “Not that either of us came back via the Lazarus Pits," he adds. The silence doesn’t end and Damian shifts under the stares. Three of them were capable of laser glares.

“Things happen.” Batman says, and then, “It’s ready. Let’s get this done before older heads find us.”

Dick stares at the bubbling liquid that they tossed the desiccated corpse into with a plop and wonders if anyone would be offended if he asks to bring his parents back. Not that he really wants to go back to his old life, he loves being Robin and saving people. He loves the strange family, clan, and tribe he’s joined. He loves the sound of Damian breathing on the floor next to the bed formerly known as his and currently Dick’s, the way the man will wake at an instant to answer questions and fears. The impromptu parties and feasts in the room that even the old butler will join when they cook over the fire at two or three in the morning and discuss cases, books, art, politics, adventures, music, and anything else anyone can think of. Mom and Dad could have his room and they could all be heroes together. Or maybe they and Bruce could-

The decaying corpse rises, howling in agony before sliding back under. Steph’s arm tenses around him. It doesn’t look like a fun way to come back, and he knows Mom and Dad are in the nice place.

“Somethings wrong,” Cass says as the corpse surfaces again, still screaming.

“Of course something is wrong, I don’t think it was ever alive to begin with!” Damian snarls as he draws a wicked smile of a blade, one Dick has never seen before. Suren draws its sister, one hand glowing with a spell. The fight is brief and brutal. Dick flinches from what the clone says to Damian.

“Dude. I thought he’d moved past that.” Maya says as the Justice League floats down, late as normal.

Damian shrugs. “I didn’t. But now we know he’s lost in time and Jason and Tim are right. Ready for your first solo world trip, Red?”

Jason stares at Damian, a mix of pride, horror, and excitement on his face. “Yes?”

“Good. Try not to be tempted to the dark side by Grandpa Ghul. Or to blow up too many of his bases. That’s Tim’s hobby.”

-

As they follow the clues Bruce hid in time in the manor, Dick asks his Batman, “When your dad comes back, are you going to be Flamebird again?”

Damian hears the real question, the one about leaving and pauses to look at Robin who is studying the carvings over the mantel as if he were an expert woodworker. He thinks before he speaks. “Probably. Neither Father nor I think my being Batman is a good idea; too many villains are invested in it. But I think Flamebird needs to hang out in Gotham for a while. He’s been flying too far for years now, it’d be good to rest the wings.”

Dick nods and lets the tension go from his shoulders. “Does Flamebird have a partner?”

“Always. Even in most myths from other cultures and worlds, Flamebird rarely flies alone.”

“Who’s his most common one?”

Damian thinks for a moment, careful of the child’s feelings. He doesn’t say Goliath, Nobody, Abuse, Batgirl, or the Dragon Lord. Batman. Those are his, not the myth’s. Finally he says, “On Krypton and in that region of the galaxy, it’s Nightwing. The great rebuilder.”

“Nightwing?” Dick thinks about it and then unleashes the Grayson Grin. “Nightwing. I like it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Death Cab for Cuties song "Brothers on a Hotel Bed".
> 
> One of my favorite things about Robin: Son of Batman is Damian dying at the climax of the two story arcs. He's the Kenny of the Bat Family (Maya in my mind will someday start yelling, "Oh my god, you killed Dami! You bastards.), but doesn't tell his dad or siblings about it. As for what clone!Bruce said, it's the same as in the comic.
> 
> The Final Crisis was brief. Suren is a demigod, Damian's from a family that has killed civilizations and religions, self appointed gods mean little to them. They showed up and curb stomped the New Gods (Batcow and Batdog helped)(his team of Titans was never called that despite containing a Kryptonian, avatars of the green and red, former assassins, Goliath and Suren. Too close to the truth. They have been referred to as muppets and sailor scouts.).


End file.
